


The Wave

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [40]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Breakup, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carmen leaves home. Tom comes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wave

**Author's Note:**

> This iteration of Tom was the one I tried to write as close to IRL Tom. Given what's been going on, I thought about it. A lot. And then I came to the realization that Tom and Carmen's story is, as far as I know, finished.

_Say hello, then say farewell to the places you know_  
 _We are all mortals, aren't we? Any moment this could go_  
 _Cry, cry, cry, even though that won't change a thing_  
 _But you should know, you should hear, that I have loved_  
 _I have loved the good times here, and I will miss our good times_  
 _Spaceships are lifting off of a dying world_  
 _And millions are left behind while the sky burns_  
 _There wasn't room for you and I, only you, goodbye_  
 _Goodbye..._   
Frank Ocean, “Strawberry Swing”

* * *

The movers that Carmen had booked on Sunday night arrived on Monday afternoon. She paid extra for the convenience but she was grateful. There wasn’t much time. It was the Monday before the Wednesday when the rest of the world would discover what she herself had just found out.

She was grateful for the movers’ help with packing, them nodding mutely whenever she pointed to what was his and what was hers. What was to stay and what was to go.

Books, mainly, and a few decorative objects around the first floor. Upstairs was just her clothes and toiletries. The bedroom toys they had bought together she had gotten rid of. [The pink ping pong paddle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4262145) from their first, and only, summer together was tucked away in her carry-on.

“Do you want to get that, ma’am?”

One of the men, a sort of spritely type with soft brown curls and bright hazel eyes, stood in front of Carmen as she sat, not drinking the cup of tea she had made for herself, at the kitchen table.

“What?” She wrinkled her nose. “Pardon?”

“The phone, ma’am.” He indicated the iPhone on the table.

“That?” Carmen shook her head. “No.”

“It’s been buzzing all afternoon.”

“Oh! I’m sorry.” She looked stricken. “Is it bothering you? I’ll turn it off.”

“No, ma’am. I just thought you…”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. We can just leave it, then.”

It was then that the mover noticed her hands. The nails bitten down, knuckles raw as though they had been rubbed endlessly. The reddened skin matched the the red around her eyes. He would have guessed she had just been crying but when she looked at him, but her wide brown eyes were dry.

“Well, everything’s done. You have the address for where this lot goes?”

“Of course,” replied Carmen. She handed the mover a card bearing the address of a storage facility out by the airport. She reached into her bag for her wallet. “I know the fee’s been taken care of, but you should really have something extra.”

“No, ma’am. It’s not necessary.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite alright. I’ll, erm, close the door on the way out. Thank you. And, ah, good day. Ma’am.”

The mover made a small bow, then left Carmen with her tea and the still buzzing phone she refused to pick up. She was alone.

The kitchen chair wasn’t comfortable, so she picked up her things and brought the lot into the living room. She laid them out on the coffee table, then checked that her suitcase and handbag were still by the door. Her flight wasn’t for hours but, as much as she didn’t want to be there, in the house where she had lived with him, loved him, she didn’t know where else to go.

Everywhere in London made her think of him. It was a small consolation when he was away from home, to be able to walk into their local pub and order his favorite burger. Browse the bookstore where they could often be found kissing like teenagers, pressed up against a shelf overstuffed with used books, instead of shopping. He was everywhere but not where she needed him most.

Lying on the couch, Carmen felt what she thought was peace. The more she lay there, the more she understood that it wasn’t peace she felt but resignation. She was finished. It was over.

The still buzzing phone had been creeping, set in motion by its vibrations, towards the edge of the coffee table. Before it flipped over onto the floor, Carmen stuck her arm out and caught it neatly in her right hand. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the phone and looked at the display.

The buzzing was caused by texts. The texts kept coming long after the calls had filled the voicemail box she refused to check. Each parcel of data, all saying the same things over and over again.

_Button_

_Let me explain_

_I still love you_

_Carmen_

_Please_

All of a sudden Carmen felt a pounding behind her right eye. It came on quickly, so much so that her eyes began to tear. Shutting them tight did her no good. And then she felt nauseous. Despite the pain in her head, she got herself upright and ran into the kitchen. She threw up in the sink, but still felt dizzy, even after she drank water straight from the tap and splashed the back of her neck. She helped herself to some paracetamol from the bottle in the junk drawer, then breathed.

Back in the living room, Carmen got out her laptop so she could check her email for her flight details. Also in her mailbox was a new message from an old friend from home.

> _Carmen (though in my heart you will always be l[ittle Enid](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4653450/chapters/10618122)) _
> 
> _I just got into town. Here for a conference at the LSE. Any chance you’re free for late lunch or early dinner tonight? I tried calling but your mailbox was full. I’m at Grosvenor House -- call here or just stop by._
> 
> _your favorite professor,  
>  Lauren _

Carmen’s bottom lip trembled but she didn’t cry out. She wasn’t sure she had any tears left for him, or for herself. Once she got herself together, Carmen called for a taxi, then went outside to sit in the front garden and wait.

* * *

 _If you should ever leave me  
Well life would still go on believe me  
The world could show nothing to me  
So what good would living do me  
_God only knows what I'd be without you__  
Brian Wilson and Tony Asher, “God Only Knows”

He made it home after a few weeks. Weeks of attention and flashes going off in his face, words written about what he was, not who. Weeks of trying to find her so he could talk to her, explain what he was thinking, say how sorry he was. Tom was exhausted, but there was no rest for him even when he walked through his front door.

In the house, the air was still. He had expected as much after having been away for so long. But that kind of air was usually stale. No, the feeling in the room was almost as though he had just missed Carmen. He knew she wasn’t there, had not been there for weeks but still he ran up to the bedroom, checked the bathroom. His study, the kitchen, the living room once more. And then he gave up.

His phone had no missed calls or new text messages. There was nothing of her. Not a note, a stray stocking or bobby pin. Not even a strand of her wavy hair on the bathroom sink, or a crumpled tissue with blotted lipstick in the rubbish bin.

Tom made himself sit down on the couch. In front of him on the coffee table was the snow globe, down from its usual spot on the bookshelf. Picking it up, he turned it over in his hand. Inside the dome, a blue bear and a lavender mouse held hands and danced in the swirl of silver glitter. There was something in there with them. Carefully, Tom upended the snow globe so he could unscrew the base and get another look.

Taped just inside the base was what he feared it was. [Her ring.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5587144) The ring he had slid onto her finger when they had sat in the same spot on the couch where he himself sat now, the spot where he had asked her to be his forever, and she had said yes.

All of a sudden, his chest felt tight. His breathing grew shallow, and his face and neck burned. With shaking hands, he screwed the base back on then set the intact snow globe back on the table. He rushed towards the door, letting it slam behind him.

On the short walk to the pub he stopped for a moment. The clear blue sky that had greeted him that morning when he landed was less brilliant at lunch time. Small clouds flew by, and the shadows they cast in the street were dark. He felt a chill.

Inside the pub, the chatter of the lunchtime crowd came to a stop when he appeared. Patrons, neighbors he recognized, stared at him. Some hard, some curious. But nobody spoke to him or nodded to him. Not even a tip of the cap. Tom sank onto a bar stool and waited for someone to take his order.

A paper coaster skidded to a stop in front of him. The barman set down a pint of lager as well as a menu.

“Afternoon. Sir.” The bartender’s lips were tight and thin as he looked at Tom.

“It’s me, Paul.” Tom couldn’t read his face. “Tom.”

“Right. Tom.” Paul shifted, then glanced towards the back. “The usual?”

Tom nodded. “Medium well.” He lifted the pint to his lips. “And keep these coming.”

It wasn’t Paul but Moira the waitress who brought Tom’s food. When she set down the plate without looking at his face, Tom grabbed her wrist before she could pull away.

“Have you seen her? Has she been in?” When she looked up, she saw that Tom’s eyes were wet. So much so that Moira wasn’t sure she could stay hurt on behalf of the woman who, until a few weeks ago, was her favorite customer.

“What do you care?” Moira said.

“Moira!” Paul nodded towards the door. “Customers here need to order.”

The waitress yanked her hand away from Tom’s grasp.

“Please,” whispered Tom.

“Weeks ago. Sunday lunch.”

“Do you know where she’s gone?”

“No,” Moira said truthfully.

“Well, do you remember how she looked when she was here? Who did she talk to? What did she say?”

“I don’t remember…”

“Moira, you remember.” He took a breath. “Please.”

“She looked like, well, herself.” Moira shrugged.

“What else?”

“She said hello to me, ordered the Sunday roast and a pot of tea. She tipped, bless her.” Moira smiled ruefully. “She always did, even though we told her she didn’t have to.”

Tom nodded. “Of course.” He blinked. “Anything else?”

“She, ah… fuck.” Moira frowned.

“Moira!” Paul called. “Menus up front!”

“Coming!” She looked at Tom’s face. “We had been talking. And then I remembered — she had let me borrow a book a few days before. I had finished but I forgot it at home. I brought it in the next day. Left it in the office for her to pick up when she pleased. But,” Moira shook her head. “She never came back.”

“Alright,” replied Tom. “What was the book?”

“Moira!” Paul yelled.

“Just a novel,” replied Moira. “I think it might still be here. I’ll take a look.

“That would be nice.” Tom looked grateful. “Thank you.

Moira gave up. “Okay. I’ll, ah, attend to these customers. Back in a moment.”

Tom nodded, then watched Moira’s retreating figure as she walked away.

The pub was busier now, so it took a while for Moira to return. When she did, she set the book on the counter in front of Tom, then left him alone.

He inspected the cover. It was creased, and one of the corners was gone. He recognized the name of the author as being one of Carmen’s favorites. He had always meant to read this book and the others Carmen had brought, but he never got around to it.

Inside the pages were still crisp despite the age of the book. A few dogeared corners led him to underlined quotes, accompanied by notes in purple ink that said things like “Yes!” and “Beautiful”.

Tucked in towards the back was her bookmark. Tom squeezed his eyes shut when he saw that it was a strip of three photographs of the two of them, taken in a photobooth in some dim bar in Chicago. In the pictures, they ignored the camera in favor of kissing. Just as he was about to replace it, he saw some text that was not underlined but highlighted. In the dim light of the bar, he read the words she had left behind:

> _If it is true that you can feel a wave of love, I did. I felt my heart being torn open, and I accepted it. It was something that happened without consequence, so I let it happen. On that particular day, my vision of these matters was particularly bleak, and I did not believe that any virtue came of chance meetings or accidents of destiny. But suddenly I felt intelligible to another person… It was only a moment, but I was grateful. It is not everyone who gets a moment of unexpected understanding…_

All at once Tom remembered. Remembered that [she had read this to him in bed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4767602), before he left for another long trip away from home. Remembered making love, and the feeling of missing her already even when she was in his arms.

Tom couldn’t undo what he had done. There were no excuses for the choices he had made. He thought this prevented regret and its cousin feeling, guilt.

But he gave up. She had loved him. He had loved her. He had fucked it up. And now she was gone.

There was nothing else for him to do but pay his bill, trudge home, set the book on the shelf next to the snow globe. Get into bed, lie awake long into the night, and wonder what the morning would bring.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you with sticking with these guys until the end. I'll still write fic, but most likely just for non-actor AU Toms and his characters.


End file.
